Game of Hearts

To all who have loved I salute your patience
For man is fickle and cold
His heart is not made for yours to hold
Rather, its design is meant to crumble, like sand, in your hands
While yours, in his, remains
In one piece, or in many
Broken fragments, breathing life into calloused hands
Fighting against all odds to take hold
And escape the thoughtless fall that precedes forgotteness
It is a grim game that hearts play
A battle waged in futility that leaves all scarred who take part
For hearts break even amidst the kindest intentions
And that which one once loved shrivels into obscurity